


Woman to Woman

by projectcyborg



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: femslash100, F/F, Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-25
Updated: 2005-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectcyborg/pseuds/projectcyborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>#33 ~ punishment</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woman to Woman

**Author's Note:**

> words: 200 + 234

Cain's fingertips are pressed to the glass, white rings showing under her nails.

One of the men looks up, sees her standing outside the cell. "Frak, the admiral," he says. Three other heads whip around. They drop Six abruptly in their haste to cover themselves. She hits the floor without raising her arms to break her fall, and lies unmoving where she lands, one leg twisted awkwardly under her. The men attempt to stand at attention, clutching their pants over their hardons.

Cain swipes her ID and the door whirrs open. "You're dismissed," she says. She ignores the pilots as they dress, watches Six breathe.

When Cain is alone, when the guards outside turn their backs discreetly, she crouches next to Six. She reaches between Six's splayed legs, pushes two fingers inside her. Six's pulse throbs around Cain, an almost imperceptible reminder of her beating heart. When Cain pulls out, her fingers are streaked with blood. She wipes them across Six's mouth, smearing greening bruises with red.

Cain stands up. She kneels again. She leans over and kisses Six on the lips, tasting flesh and sweetness and iron.

For a moment, Six's vacant eyes focus on hers, woman to woman.

* * *

Cain grips the edge of the bench in the cell they hauled her into, white-knuckled with fury. The barrel of a gun jabs her temple. Roslin is on the other end of it.

"You're not worthy to wear that uniform." Roslin is deadly poised, coiled to spring like an overwound clockwork.

"You're not qualified to make that assessment, Madam Secretary," Cain sneers.

Roslin raises her arm, backhands Cain across the cheek with the butt of the weapon. When Cain straightens up, her lip is split and bleeding.

"Take it off," Roslin says. Cain doesn't move.

"You think that, because I was a schoolteacher, I won't kill you for what you did? I said strip."

Roslin watches as Cain peels off each article of clothing. Watches her nipples pebble in the energy-saving chill, obscenely pert and pink. Watches her clench her fists at her sides, too proud to cover herself.

"Hands against the wall," Roslin says. Under the gun, Cain obeys. Roslin touches her fingertips, barely, to the enticing shadow where Cain's back swells into her buttocks. Cain's muscles clench.

"Right and wrong look rather different from the opposite side of the bars." And Roslin grabs Cain by the hair, suddenly. She shoves the gun between Cain's legs, throwing her weight behind it. Cain arches back into her, screaming, as Roslin forces the jagged barrel inside. "Don't they say, let the punishment fit the crime?"


End file.
